


Songs of War

by trashkatten



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Ancient China Inspired, Fantasy, Gen, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23473075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashkatten/pseuds/trashkatten
Summary: A great land in turmoil, torn apart by various factions vying for control, and at the centre? The largest clan of them all; a group who kidnap and enslave the innocent and weak, easily destroying all those who are too strong to enslave and those who defy them. None are brave enough or mighty enough to challenge them, lest they risk inciting the anger of the wasp's nest and being reduced to rubble. However, a stranger to these lands and a chance encounter with a reclusive strategist spark a camaraderie that ignites the rebellion, ready to fight the Slavers to their dying breaths. But to do that, they'd need an army.
Kudos: 3





	Songs of War

A pained weeping rung out across the beach as the broken figure slumped to his knees, barely even resembling a person anymore. Their body was adorned with various scars and fresh wounds, dried blood staining his clothes and skin. The wood he had been carrying crashed onto the sand as he wept, his body too tired and strained to work anymore. A few other people in a similar physical condition to this man watched on, some with a horrified look on their faces and others who seemed too jaded by the constant death around them to even react. A figure dressed in all black walked up to the crying man, a wooden crossbow held in their hands. Similarly dressed figures stood in tall, wooden towers surrounding the area, with clear views over the desolate sands and lifeless, rolling ocean. Without a moment of hesitation, they pointed the end of the crossbow down at the man's head and released the bolt, the twang of the string echoing around them as the weeping was cut off and the man collapsed. The figure shouted at the rest of the slaves surrounding him, as they immediately began to continue their work, hoping to not suffer the same fate. He pointed at one, shouting again to grab their attention, then pointed to the body before him, tearing the bolt from the unfortunate slave's skull. The one he called over grabbed the body and began to drag it towards the well-fortified wooden encampment on the other end of the beach, knowing full well that if they hesitated for even a moment, they would be shot as well. The figure watched the slave drag the body off, a sinister smile spreading across his face beneath the mask. Turning to watch the rest of the slaves, a sudden chorus of shouting and drums banging rang out across the beach as each of the men in the watchtowers were taken out one by one by arrows, swift and precise shots to the neck killing each one instantly, their weapons clattering to the ground as their bodies crumpled.

The Slavers patrolling the beach immediately mobilised, drawing their weapons and gathering the slaves into groups to make sure none escaped. Most of the slaves were either too confused by the ensuing chaos or too frightened by the shouts and threats of the Slavers to even attempt it, however one group was only being watched by a single Slaver, who was already distracted with the fighting. Watching the chaos around him and preparing to shoot a bold slave who was attempting to escape, he was suddenly struck across the back of the head, the sound of wood cracking deafening him as he stumbled forward in a daze. The ringing in his ears had barely died down as he spun to confront his assailant; a particularly brave prisoner, who clutched a snapped plank of wood in his hands, staring at the slaver with a confident fire in his eyes. Most of the other slaves were bald- their heads being shaved by the slavers, however this prisoner had a mess of wine-red hair being blown about by the wind. The slaver aimed the crossbow at the prisoner, only for it to be quickly shoved aside as they moved to attack again with an almost unnatural agility. After another dazing blow to the head, the slaver drew the machete from its sheath and stabbed at him, it quickly being met by the plank of wood as the prisoner raised it as if it were a shield. The blade became lodged in the plank and was immediately torn from his grip, barely having a moment to register the move before the machete was plunged into his neck, killing him instantly. Bowstrings twanged as arrows flew, stabbing into the sands all around the slave as the battle between the Slavers and a strange, concealed faction raged on. Deciding to take his chances, he watched for a gap in the warring forces and made a dash for freedom, still clutching the plank tightly as he ran. Arrows shot past him, just barely sailing past him as he ducked and dived as best as he could, refusing to stop his mad sprint even as the furious raging of the battle faded into the distance, and the calming sounds of nature overtook the brutality.

Soon the hot, scorching sands beneath him became cool, luscious grass and crunching leaves as he fled, ignoring the sharp thorns and razor leaves slashing and tearing his feet and legs, covering them in deep crimson cuts and bruises. His body felt like it was burning from the inside out as he finally stumbled to a stop, collapsing onto his back and sprawling out on the soft, dew-soaked grass. Every breath he took felt like ice-cold water splashing onto a raging inferno, calming him as he finally allowed himself to recuperate. His eyes stung like mad- the sand in his eyes feeling like tiny pins stabbing into them and the bones in his legs felt like they had completely shattered, but he was alive. The midday sun shone down brightly onto him through a gap in the tree canopy, reflecting off of the sweat dripping down his face as he lay there. He hadn't been enslaved for long, but the numerous beatings and arduous labour he was forced to endure made it feel like decades had passed since he'd first set foot in these lands. It had been too long since he'd had anything resembling good food, or a good place to sleep. Because of this, his body needed rest; something he was all too aware of as he felt himself slowly drift off. Falling asleep in the forest glade wasn't of any concern to him, nor was the sounds of nearby wildlife. All that mattered to him, was rest.

He awoke to a strange, yet familiar sensation; the crackling warmth of a nearby fireplace, causing memories of his own home to come flooding back as the pleasant smell of cooking food filled the air around him. Opening his eyes, he found himself in a small but welcoming wooden cottage, gently lit by lanterns and warm candles. He was lying on a wooden bed with a mattress made from straw, wrapped in a comfortable wool blanket that concealed the dirtied and torn slave rags beneath. Intense pain tore through his body as he sat up, catching the attention of a man sat a short distance from him, stirring a strong-smelling soup with a notched wooden spoon. "How are you feeling?" The man asked. His voice was low and deep, with a certain air of refinement. "My name is Gabriel; I found you passed out in this forest." Gabriel had a pleasant face with long, straight brown hair that reached his shoulders.  
"Gabriel, hm?" The slave spoke, tightening the wool blanket around him. His voice, in comparison, was soft, exuding both a gentle nature and a strong sense of authority. Gabriel handed him a large cup with steam rising from the inside, before taking a sip from his own.  
"Not many manage to break free from The Slavers' iron grip." He spoke, taking another sip from his mug as he examined the former slave before him. The slave looked up at him, sipping desperately from the cup as if its contents were the first hint of water he'd had in years.  
"Why bring me into your home like this?" He asked after a few moments of silence between the two. "The moment I woke up I could have slaughtered you and stolen everything." Gabriel chuckled lightheartedly, setting his mug down on the table beside him, next to a large plate of various colourful foods.   
"You were in no state to fight when I found you. And besides, I'm the one with the weapon." He patted the hilt of a crudely made long sword strapped to his waist, laughing again. "Oh, not to worry. I'm not threatening you. Much like you, if I wished to kill you, you wouldn't be here right now. Although, maybe I am too trusting." Placing his hand on the worn sword, he unclasped it from his leather belt and rested it against the table. "So, how did you manage to flee? It's not often there's a breach in The Slaver's walls." Robin hesitated for a moment.  
"We were out working on one of their beaches when they were attacked. I escaped in the commotion." He finished the last of his drink before setting the cup down on the floor, wiping his mouth. "Others must have escaped too, however I could not see them as I ran."  
"Ah, and what do you plan to do now?" Gabriel responded, crossing one leg over the other as he watched his guest intently. The slave met his gaze, furrowing his brow in suspicion at his supposed saviour.  
"What would you do with that information?" Brushing his hair out of his eyes, he examined the weapon leaning against the table, quickly taking note of its various aspects in case he'd need to defend against it. "I've no doubts that the idea of returning me to them and collecting the reward has crossed your mind." A look of brief frustration flashed over Gabriel's face as he leaned back on the stool he sat on, sighing.  
"My friend, if I attempted something as back-handed as that, they'd turn right back around and kidnap me within the hour regardless of what I'd done to help them." He exclaimed, a short-lived tinge of anger in his voice. "Now, traveller, if you would be so kind as to stop suspecting me of being some greedy low-life, I should quite like to know your name." The slave decided to lower his guard for once, silently admitting that the man did have a point. He had saved him, after all.  
"My name is Robin." He replied, letting the blanket fall loose to reveal the torn and bloodied slave rags. "They have to be out there somewhere. The other slaves; I will find them." Robin continued, his gaze seeming to look towards the horizon as he spoke- a small spark in his eyes like the ignition of his fiery determination. "I'll form a force of those scorned by the scum on the beaches, and I will burn The Slavers to the ground." Gabriel, evidently expecting an answer similar to this, smirked at him and folded his arms.  
"Ha! Fair enough, fair enough. But your chosen enemy is hundreds, if not thousands of members strong, and you are but one. This is no army."  
"During my time as a slave, I learned of numerous smaller factions in the Southlands." Robin firmly fixated his gaze on Gabriel, the original spark of motivation growing into a raging fire of ambition. "I shall make those my own and unite them under me." Gabriel met his gaze, a serious look spreading across his face.  
"Surely you can't hope to achieve all of this without help. You'll need an adviser, someone to guide you." Robin opened his mouth to respond, but found nothing. Gabriel however, seemed like he'd finally reached the answer he had desired. "Very well then!" He exclaimed, standing from his chair and placing his hands together in a bow. "Your ambition has me enthralled. I shall be your guide through the chaos, Robin." Robin looked up at him, both a look of surprise and confusion in his eyes.  
"You?" He replied. His tone wasn't one of judgement; more one of complete confusion as to why he'd want to help someone he'd just met.  
"Years have I waited for someone with the strength and the drive necessary to fight against the Slavers." Gabriel's firm gaze looked down at Robin, newfound respect shining in his eyes. "The people of this land are exhausted, the other factions too weak to take the fight to the enemy; too concerned with their own safety to truly commit to what has to be done. Yet, despite your composed exterior, in you I see a furious inferno with the power to take this land and the entire world in your wake." Nodding in agreement and struggling to his feet, Robin returned the bow of his newfound ally. The hope now burning within him quelled the pain and weakness that had all but consumed him before.


End file.
